


B-Sides of Patriotism

by freezinginbristol



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezinginbristol/pseuds/freezinginbristol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day rolls around again.237 years to the date. But instead of the usual suspect haunted with regret and indecision, America finds himself in the midst of it, as well as one unusually willing nation to help make sense of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B-Sides of Patriotism

They really were a glorious thing.

He leans back in his seat by the window,momentarily away from the crowds of good wishes and laughter in order to clear past the muddled part of his brain.

Years seemed to go by like fireworks. Same old red white and-

_blue sky during the nighttime hour as the final word comes in._

_He had done it._

_Even with Washington, old as he was, the testament of that fact seemed to resonate throughout him._

_Their land._

_His land._

_Alfred runs a his through his hair in the dark of the night, looking out from the grounds of his leaders estate and feeling_

_Pride?_

_Why was that a question? His jaw ticks and the reminder is back again before he can stop himself of remorse and regret and if he had only given him a chance then maybe this wouldn't have happen-_

"You're brooding."

He blinks and takes in a breath sinking in the sound of fireworks, not cannons, and the humming of air conditioning and it was 2015 not 1776.

"You always say that." he hums, taking another sip of champagne before it is slipped away by nimble fingers. "How'd you find me?"

Madeline gives him one of the biggest _seriously?_ looks he'd ever seen from her and by the way that she's moving he gets out of the chair and follows her out the back door.

The rush of air is almost a relief, and she smiles to herself at the pressure coming off his shoulders, arms crossed over the black material of her evening dress.

"Pretty, aren't they?"she comments at the display of fireworks lighting up the sky.

America smiles. "Yeah." His eyes train themselves from the display back to his sister. "But I doubt you dragged me out here to talk about fireworks. "

Madeline laughs slightly before sobering. "Talking, Alfred."

"Maddie-"

"Come on. You've been avoiding him."

"I have not-"

A sharp pain that runs through their link and an annoyed look from her quickly shuts him up. Blue and violet eyes look a few leagues away to the figure standing by the small pond's edge. America bites his tongue before sighing, prompting a hum of agreement from his twin.

"Fine. But this doesn't mean anyth-"

"Yeah yeah." She lifts herself up on her toes slightly to kiss his cheek. _Thank you flyboy._

* * *

"You're not very good at sneaking up on people."

America almost winces at the older nation's words, moving from his place to stand beside him with a small laugh. "Guess I'll need to work on that."

The silence keeps for a few moments before Arthur speaks. "I'm hoping you've got your severe patriotic complex out of your system."

"Why? Think I'm going to jump you with guns and eagles screaming my national anthem at the top of my lungs, Iggy?" He elbows England lightly, smile wide.

Arthur smirks, gaze still set ahead. "America, you may be the world's largest superpower but I can still turn you into a puppy without thinking."

His smile falters. "Not cool, dude."

"Maybe you shouldn't go through my things."

_"I was seven!"_

Arthur shrugs. "Not my problem."

America kicks at the dirt with his shoe, watching the dust play in the air before it disappeared into the dark. His voice is hesitant. "Will you tell me the story?"

Arthur looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "And have that French frog come to me hours later complaining about my parenting skills _again-"_

 _"_ No." America laughs, waving a hand is dismissal before sobering. "The _other_ one."

England's brow furrows in confusion for moment before understanding reaches his face. "Why'd you want to hear that?"

Alfred shrugs. "Humor me."

England sighs, hands slipping into his pockets as they began to walk. The silence reigns for a few moments before he starts speaking again.

"It was autumn, near the middle of it at least and I was walking along in the woods-one of my few moments without anyone or the frog bothering me. And I hear from a little ways off a sort of fussing sound and I go over to look and-" he stops for a moment, a smile working it's way onto his lips. "There you were. Just sitting there in a pile of leaves and...trying to teethe on them which wasn't going well. I was very careful about the whole situation, you understand, you being a new nation, or at the very least a piece of land. But something just... clicked. You stopped fussing once I picked you up and just looked at me with the biggest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were like the sky, all wide and open."

His gaze flickers to Alfred, whose same eyes are watching with intense focus. They've stopped now by a stone bench before both sit, lost in thought.

"And?" Alfred's voice is quiet.

England smiles, gaze now on his hands. "A part of me was so afraid that you would die on my watch and arguably to this day God only knows how you and your sister survived our parenting skills, or better yet lack thereof." Both laugh slightly before Arthur continues, voice softer. "God, I wasn't even thinking. I just took you back with me, fed you, scrambled up a makeshift bed and even then you wouldn't sleep. You cried if I wasn't holding you. The both of you really- and we would beg and plead with the two of you and make you all kinds of promises if you would just _go to sleep._ And you did after a while, and you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

A pause.

And another.

Alfred can feel the uncomfortable mixture in his stomach-nostalgia, sadness, pain.

_Guilt._

_"_ How could I-" he begins before stopping, biting his lip.

"No sense in staying in the past, America. You and I should know that better than anyone else."

He chuckles humorlessly. "I'd have to say that I have more _reasoning_ per say of living in the past," his clear blue eyes lock onto Britain's form, " _Dad_."

The word is seethed through a gritting set of teeth and England makes no move as his son-the word burns just thinking about it- shoves himself up from the seat. He waits until he is walking off to call out the words.

"I'm proud of you, Alfred."

And the stinging, knife holding denial comes again, twisting its blade into his stomach until he can't breathe. _No you're not because I'm not because some days I'm on top of the world because I broke what you gave me took your human love and dashed it to pieces how dare you say that_ _ **how dare you**_

"I... _apologize_ if that is a foreign concept to me."

Alfred feels a disassociation between the way his words sounded in his head and how they come out-black and tangled like dead weeds.

England snorts. "For God's sake, Alfred learn to take a compliment once in a while. It won't kill you. Believe me, I was absolutely furious when you left, the rage directed at you for thinking of such a thing as independence. And for...loving you the way I did."

America turns, crossing his arms. "I fail to see love in any part of this."

England hums in acknowledgement. "You see, America, I could never win when it came to you. And take that you wish, but using you and your sister as a sense of normalcy, as a way of slowing down my practically meaningless existence, was without a doubt destined to crash and burn. What you fail to realize is that weather or not you had gone or that frog hadn't left your sister to prove a point or I had somehow managed to keep my control over everything: _what we had would not have lasted."_

 _Of course. Like anything ever did._ The ferocity of the truth on both their parts hits him hard and Alfred bite the inside of his cheek to lessen the blow-it doesn't work.

England sighs, lifting himself off of the cold bench and looking at the younger nation's stance- the emotions he didn't want to portray bleeding into his rigid stance and crossed arms- before moving closer. America's gaze is set firmly onto the pavement, shoes shuffling slightly and for a brief moment, England sees the seven year old caught with his book of spells again.

"If there's anything good you've gotten from it, America, it's not giving up." America feels fingers nudge up his chin before meeting vibrant green eyes with a hesitant gaze of his own. "Even when it's for your own good, hmm?"

That warrants a slight tugging of Alfred's lips and the hand holding his chin moves to cup his cheek, thumb running along the bone underneath. And the childish habit resurfaces before he can help himself, stance relaxing as he leans into the older nation's touch,holding onto what might have been before it disappears completely from his memory.

"Now," England states, moving away and putting his hands into his pockets, "I suspect you have a sister who is waiting for a dance?"

America laughs, running a hand through his hair. "Old sentimentalism, don't you think?"

"No. Love, Alfred. You never lose it." _Not even from me._

And he watches him again, both of them lighter than before and the former British Empire sees his distraction of living turn and leave, and tries to ignore the slight ache in his heart as he did so. He'd get over it.

Eventually.


End file.
